If I Stay

by Tamara Morgan

  And worse, because it was impossible not to remember the boy she’d once been so close to he was like a second skin. The boy she remembered would have laughed off the idea of well-coiffed heiresses or living anywhere but his beloved Connecticut. The boy she remembered would have never looked at her with that cold, suggestive gleam in his eye.

  “What finally brings you home?” she asked, shaking herself off. This sense of disappointment was her own fault for building him up for so long, for housing him in a castle built on air. Of course he’d changed in eight years. She certainly had. “Your dad must be so glad to see you again.”

  “He’s not,” Jake said, his eyes going flat. “I’ve been summoned home for rustication.”

  “You mean vacation?”

  “I mean punishment. I’m supposed to retrench and rebuild my reputation. Apparently, he objects to my high profile way of living.”

  “Maybe he just misses you.”

  “Perhaps.” His reticence said more on the subject than he probably realized. “But I didn’t come all the way down to the nursery wing to talk about that. You, Amy. You. I want to hear all about you dancing your way across Europe with twenty other women. Particularly the other women. Did you all sleep together in a giant bed covered with satin pillows, sweaty and exhausted from your labors? You did, didn’t you? I can tell by the way your face is growing red.”

  Suddenly aware that they had an audience, she swooped to pick up the twins, admonishing them for holding so tightly to Jake’s pants, their sticky, grubby hands ruining the perfect creases of his slacks.

  “I can tell that your brother and I are about to have a highly inappropriate conversation, yes, we are,” she cooed to the twins, grateful to have a distraction. “And the last time I said something inappropriate, you repeated it verbatim to your mother and almost got me fired, yes, you did. Which means it’s...naptime!”

  Most of what she said was interpreted as gibberish, but both of the kids recognized naptime as the most evil word of all creation and began squirming to get out of her arms. Jake’s honest laughter—a piece of childhood that tugged at the bottom of her heart—sounded at her back.

  “I didn’t think you’d been here long enough to get on Serena’s bad side already. What did you say to set her off?”

  “Good try,” she called over her shoulder. “But I’m not falling for that one. These two are sponges for vulgarity. They won’t spout a single one of the vocab words we work on, but a tiny reference to the act of copulation slips out, and all of a sudden it’s perfect pronunciation and nuance.”

  “What I wouldn’t give to have seen Serena’s face when one of her little angels dropped the F-bomb.”

  “Stick around for a few more days and you’ll probably get the chance. I’m not exactly her top choice when it comes to her children.”

  Getting Evan and Lily to their respective cribs for naptime was a bit like wrestling alligators. Or what she imagined wrestling alligators was like, assuming the reptiles had lungs like a pair of long-distance runners and a recently acquired ability to climb in and out of their cribs. No sooner did Lily get settled in than Evan was suddenly darting between Amy’s legs in an attempt to escape the confines of their shared bedroom. If she tended to Evan first, Lily would get one leg out of her crib and realize how far she was from the ground. Vertigo kicked in and so did her panic.

  A strong male helping hand would have done wonders in soothing temperaments and smoothing blankets, but she didn’t ask Jake for assistance. And of course he didn’t offer. Being a half brother at the age of thirty wasn’t part of the image he projected to the world. Rich playboys stayed as far away from dirty diapers as possible, lest the female population get the wrong idea about their intentions.

  Amy emerged from the bedroom about twenty minutes later, frazzled and exhausted, sure Jake would have wandered off in pursuit of more entertaining activities. So she was surprised to find him seated in the gliding rocker instead, flipping through a children’s book with a frown on his face.

  She paused in the doorway, watching him read, her heart catching in her throat as memories assailed her from all sides. And not just the squishy, girly ones that existed mostly in her head. There were some real ones in there too. Jake teaching her to ride a bike. Jake coolly wrapping an arm around her and daring the eighth-grade bully to lay a finger on his property. Jake struggling to remain strong when his father didn’t show up, once again, for his birthday party.

  “That one always makes me cry,” she said once he got to the end. “When the mom crawls into her son’s window and tells him how much she loves him? I sob. We’re talking buckets of snot. It’s not pretty.”

  Jake tossed the book aside. “Are you joking? This is the creepiest thing I’ve ever read.”

  “It’s not creepy,” she protested. She grabbed the book from its spine-damaging position on the floor and returned it to the shelf. Love You Forever was a classic—right up there with Where the Wild Things Are and every Dr. Seuss ever written. “I’m a connoisseur of toddler literature these days. It’s sweet.”

  “If my mom had ever tried to spy on me in the middle of the night anytime past the age of eighteen, she’d have been in for a pretty nasty surprise. Several of them. Often at the same time.”

  She knew. She’d read the articles. “But you’re not a sweet, devoted father carrying on the family name. You’re a sleazebag. It’s a completely different situation.”

  Once again, Jake fell into a real laugh, and she thought she saw some of the ice in his eyes soften to true regard. “Oh, Amy. I don’t know how I managed to survive this world without you. No one is quite as good at putting me in my place as you are.”

  “It seems like you did perfectly fine on your own,” she said sweetly. “As long as you measure survival in numbers of sex tapes released and sexually transmitted diseases avoided.”

  He pointed at her, still smiling. “You got judgmental.”

  “I grew up. These two things aren’t unrelated.”

  “Little Amy Sanders.” He shook his head and swore under his breath. She knew before he did that he was going to pull her in for another hug, and she did nothing to stop him. This embrace held none of the enthusiasm of the earlier twirl, and she was pretty sure he was using the chest-on-chest advantage to make a more lasting assessment of her growth, but it felt good to be in his arms just the same.

  He smelled crisp and expensive, his arms strong against her back, his hand firm as it slipped down...

  “Jake!” She backed away and closed her arms over her chest. His douchebag undertones were seriously ruining the moment here.

  “What?” he asked with faux innocence.

  “Sheesh. You could at least pretend to be subtle about it.”

  “Why? Do you want me to say I find you hideous? Pretend you haven’t always been the best thing about this godforsaken place?”

  She had to give credit where credit was due—he was really good at that, and it was easy to see why legions of ladyparts quivered whenever he walked into a room. Her own only girded against the assault. She wasn’t about to take his compliments lying down.

  “That’s a good try, but I’m not part of your international harem.” She pulled out her best nanny glare. “I’m happy to see you again, Jake—you know I am—but you don’t get to ravish me with sweet words and expect me to roll over. If you want to get at this, you’ll need to try some wooing first.”

  He arched a brow, accepting the challenge as it was intended. “I can woo. Wooing is my specialty.”

  “Your specialty is making women feel like crap so they’re willing to sink to pretty much any level of depravity by the time you finally throw them your bone.”

  He tipped his head back and barked a laugh. “I’ll tell you this—if I’d have known how much fun it would be having you around again, I’d have hunted you down age
s ago.”

  Here, at least, she was back to some solid footing. She had a few coals begging to have this man dragged over them. “About that.”

  His casual smile slipped. “Please don’t talk to me in that tone of voice. I get enough of it from my family.”

  “Don’t worry—I’m not going to make you feel bad for running away from home.” Lord knew she understood the impetus. “I know what your life is now, what with all that money to spend and women to delight, but it’s really crappy of you not to at least call my mom every now and then. You missed her retirement party.”

  His smile faltered but didn’t disappear. “I would’ve come, but it wasn’t great timing. My publicist wanted me to keep a low profile after that incident with the eighteen-year-old.”

  “Seventeen.”

  “It was her birthday. There were caveats.” As if realizing she wasn’t going to let him off the hook for this one, Jake dropped the act, the casual grace slushing out through his feet, leaving him a hunched, resigned—but still undeniably attractive—man. “Shit, Amy. I’m sorry. It didn’t even occur to me that she’d want me there.”

  “She always loved you more than Monty and Jenna, you know,” Amy said. “And I’m pretty sure she still likes you better than me. She says she once offered your dad a trade.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t take her up on it.”

  “It never would have worked. You’re every inch a Montgomery.”

  His eyes roamed over her again, treading heavily and staking claims. “And you’re very clearly not.”

  “Just visit her, okay?” She didn’t care how many googly eyes he made at her—she intended to remain firm. The last thing he needed was another adoring female falling at his feet. What he needed was a not-so-adoring one wielding a hammer to his head. “She doesn’t like to talk about it, but her fibromyalgia prevents her from getting out of the house much anymore, and I know she’d love to see you. You don’t even have to stay for very long.”

  He nodded once, and Amy felt a whoosh of satisfaction move through her. She hadn’t realized how much this particular request meant to her until it crossed her lips. The Manor had been her mother’s life for so many years, her presence so ingrained in these walls you could still see remnants of her—the decorative yardstick where her careful hand tracked each child’s annual progress, the tiled wall above the play kitchen where they’d all put their handprints. Being cut off from here was hard for her.

  “I’ll visit her soon,” Jake promised. He licked his lips, his tongue tracing a slow and careful path. He had unfairly lovely lips for a man. It was a good thing his eyelashes were short and an almost invisible red, or she’d have rolled over and given up on the spot. “But you have to give me something in return.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation.”

  “No, this is me asking you out.”

  She burst out laughing. Okay, so it probably wasn’t the best response to hearing the words many women would have donated organs for, but it was the best she could do on short notice.

  “I see you haven’t lost your misguided sense of humor. That’s not the reaction I normally get from the ladies.”

  “I know you don’t. That’s what makes it so funny.”

  A look of pain crossed his face, so brief she might have imagined it. “Not everything you read about in the gossip magazines is true.”

  “No, but if even half of it is, you hardly need another woman slain and devastated at your feet. Especially the family nanny. Can you imagine what your father would say?”

  “He’d be furious.” Jake grabbed her hand and held it aloft, stopping just short of kissing it as he pondered her words. “You’re right. He’d be absolutely furious.”

  The sound of an irate squall from the next room stopped him from saying more.

  “Shit. They didn’t sleep for very long, did they?”

  She released a chuckle. “Oh, please. They haven’t fallen asleep yet. That’s the sound of the first of many gauntlets being thrown.”

  “Then you deserve a night off. A real night off.” This time, he did brush his lips against the surface of her hand, taking a moment to peek up at her with a question lingering in his eyes. It was so cheesy an actual snort escaped her.

  She clapped her free hand over her mouth to muffle the rest of her laughter, but the damage had already been done. “I’m sorry, Jake. But your face. Does that really work on the women you date?”

  He scowled. “Most of them.”

  “Don’t look so grumpy. I’m willing to accept your terms.” When he broke into self-satisfied triumph, she lifted a warning finger. “But on one condition.”

  “Name it and it’s yours. I’ll fly you to Paris. Rome. Morocco, if that’s what you want.”

  He would, too. “Please don’t pull the whole Jake-Montgomery-Smooth-Operator act on me. I’m not one of your groupies.”

  “You could be.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning. She withdrew her hand. “No. I can’t. And if you think I’m going to sit there and let you ply me with thousand-dollar wine and cheap compliments, you’re sadly mistaken. We’re not going out on a date. You and I are going to catch up on old times and have a chat about your personal standards. I’ve got a few things to say about the way you treat women.”

  “You’re really killing the mood here, Amy.”

  “And call my mom first. She has things to say about the way you treat women too.”

  He backed quickly toward the door as the twins’ shouts grew louder. “She’s welcome to say them, but you’re both headed for disappointment. A leopard doesn’t change his spots.”

  “No.” Amy prepared to head into the bedroom for battle. “But he can be skinned alive.”

  Chapter Four

  “I’ll need one of the Ferraris tonight.” Jake Montgomery sat on top of the hood of a Rolls Royce, seemingly immune to the fact that he was damaging the body with his skinny, well-groomed ass. “The red one. No. The white. It’s classier. Shine her up and top her off, my good man.”

  Ryan didn’t bother to stretch his face into a smile. He might willingly participate in the modern-day serving class for Mr. Montgomery’s sake—didn’t mind Monty as a human being—but no way in hell was he going to bend over and take it from the wastrel middle son.

  The reasons were slippery and hard for him to get his hands on, but there was just something about this guy he couldn’t stand.

  “Sorry,” he said, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his contempt. “No one takes those out without permission. Not even you.”

  Especially you, he didn’t have to say. Throughout the course of Ryan’s employment here, Jake had been around long enough to ding, dent and crash no fewer than half a dozen of his father’s prized possessions. The first time, he’d tried blaming it on Ryan—had even gone so far as to hint that alcohol had been involved.

  That had only happened once.

  One of Ryan’s lesser-known Hollywood skills was his ability to throw a showy punch—one that looked good, sounded better, but didn’t do anything to mar an actor’s perfect, irreplaceable face. He didn’t think Jake cared to find out what would happen if he actually landed the next one.

  “Come on. Help a guy out, would you?” Jake extended his arm, ostensibly to shake Ryan’s hand, really to slip a fifty-dollar bill into his palm. As they were the only two people in the garage, the attempt at secrecy was ludicrous. “I’ll be extra careful. I’m going to have some precious cargo riding with me tonight, if you know what I mean.”

  Ryan didn’t take his hand. He knew exactly what kind of cargo Jake would want to woo with a fast car that wasn’t his own, and a woman like that would make him more reckless, not less.

  “Sorry, Mr. Montgomery,” he said, emphasizing the title. “I have strict orders. You get the keys when you get cle
arance from up high. And only when you get clearance from up high.”

  Some of the smug veneer wiped off Jake’s face, making him look exactly like a kid denied a candy bar. Ryan had no idea what women saw in the guy. He was disgustingly rich, yes. Dressed in the expensive Italian suits that made the most out of a man, sure. And there was something to be said about a thick head of hair that stood so tall birds could nest in it. But Ryan would rather lose his job and end up working at a car wash than break a rule to make Jake’s life any more of a cakewalk than it already was.

  “You don’t have to be such a prick about it. You might have my dad standing behind you right now, but believe me when I say that his support can disappear faster than a schoolgirl cries. I’m something of an expert on the subject.”

  “I bet you are. That face probably makes a lot of schoolgirls cry.”

  As the insult sank in, a look of genuine pleasure spread across Jake’s face. He hopped off the car. “You’re funny, Ryan the Car Man. I still think you’re a prick, but I like that about you. So it’s a no go on all the cars? Not even a Roadster?”

  “Sorry. Your lady friend will have to pick you up this time around.”

  Jake looked out the garage door toward the parking lot and frowned. Curious, Ryan followed the path of his gaze to where it skimmed over his own Honda motorcycle to stop on Amy’s worn red Rabbit.

  No. It wasn’t possible.

  “No. Not possible,” Jake said, taking the words right from Ryan’s mouth. “Her car doesn’t exactly lend itself to romance, does it?”

  “You’re going out with Amy?” Ryan struggled to remain calm. He knew it was none of his business who she dated—or when, or why, or how—but it was impossible to quell his mounting sense of outrage. He’d nobly resisted the urge to ask her out himself because he refused to be that guy where she was concerned. He wouldn’t be the asshole who toyed with her only to leave town the next day, the jerk who never looked farther than the end of his dick.